


The Pain of Loss

by propergenius



Series: The Meta Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Plot Twists, Post S3, Romance, Slash, Spoilers, s4/s5 predictions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propergenius/pseuds/propergenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up one Sunday morning to find that his daughter and wife have been kidnapped. He enlists the help of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, and together they attempt to find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pain of Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the meta created by Tumblr user WellThenGameOver, found here: http://wellthengameover.tumblr.com/my-sherlock-meta
> 
> This work, as well as the rest of the works in this series, are essentially my creative take on WellThenGameOver's meta and predictions for Sherlock Series 4 and Series 5. However, any mistakes are mine alone. Also, I do not have any inside knowledge of the BBC's plans for Sherlock.

Gasping, John Watson jolts awake. _What a terrible dream_ , he thought, catching his breath. He swore he’d heard his daughter cry, but it was clear from the silence in the house that it had been just a dream. He rubs sleep from his eyes and sits up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he does. The stress of having a newborn has been causing the old war injury to act up again, and sleeping on the couch hasn’t been helping. Even sleeping at the apartment in Baker Street with Sherlock’s incessant violin playing was better than this. John chuckles at the thought of his friend laying on the floor of the flat they once shared, his bare feet propped up on the sofa while he picks at the violin’s string absent-mindedly, his dark curls falling just so on the wood floor. That beautiful, pale skin looking milky white against his blue dressing gown, the violin resting against his sharp chin, the morning light accentuating his sharp cheek bones…

John shakes his head, as if to clear these thoughts from his head. He and Sherlock were friends, and that was all. Sherlock wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone, much less with his someone he very clearly considered just a friend. Besides, John was married for Christ’s sake.

John sighs, thinking of his deteriorating relationship with his wife. He loves her, he really does, but lately things have been getting worse. Having a newborn baby should be a magical time, and John had hoped that the birth of their daughter would bring them together. Clearly, though, that wasn’t the case. John had thought things were resolved after he had thrown the flash drive in the first at Sherlock’s Christmas party. At first, things were resolved, it seemed. Their lives had returned to normal for a week or two, until the baby came. Then, there was the fighting. Fights about dinner, about money, about the baby, about Sherlock, but now… Silence. These days, John and Mary never spoke to one another except when absolutely necessary, and even then it was cold. John had packed so many times, telling himself that he was leaving and never coming back, but he always lost his nerve.

At least there was his daughter. Beautiful, sweet Anna, with her ten tiny perfect fingers and ten tiny perfect toes. Anna, with her big beautiful eyes and the nose that reminded him of his mother. John smiled at the thought of his beautiful daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib; she really was an angel, he though, to be sleeping through the night for once. John loves being a father, just as he knew he would. Glancing at the clock, he sees it’s nearly 6 in the morning. Surely Anna will be in need of a bottle soon.

Stretching his aching shoulder, John breathes deeply and plants his feet on the living room carpet. He really should call Sherlock. Between the stress of adjusting to parenthood and his marriage falling apart, John hadn’t talked to his friend much. He felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of his friend alone in the flat they once shared. He hoped Sherlock was eating properly.

John walked sleepily to the kitchen, shivering slightly as his feet hit the tile. Reaching the fridge, he grabbed the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light burned his eyes. John grabbed a bottle of formula, filled a pot with water, and warmed the bottle on the stove. Once it reaches the right temperature, John pads his way through the small house to his daughter’s room. He opens the door slowly, hoping to wake her only enough to feed her and put her back to sleep. Today is his day off, he remembers, and he’d love to get a few extra hours of sleep.

———

“ANNA!” John screams out the open window into the chilly Sunday morning air. His daughter’s crib sits to his right, cold and empty. “Anna!” he shouts again, opening every drawer in the room frantically, even though he already knows they’re all empty. Throwing the door open and sprinting down the hall, John bursts into the master bedroom. A new pang of fear shoots through him as he realizes that this bed too is empty. “Anna! Anna where are you?!”  
Suddenly, something catches John’s eye. A flash of bright red on the otherwise starched white sheets where his wife should be laying, a jumble of letters clearly etched in blood on the sheets.

_Tu Cbsut Iptqjubm_

Immediately, John knows what he has to do. He throws jeans and a jumper on as quickly as he can. _Sherlock_ , he thinks. _Sherlock will fix this_. Grabbing his pistol from the bedside table and shoving it in the waistband of his jeans, John dashes out of the bedroom and sprints out of the house. He has to get to Baker Street.


End file.
